


Precipitate Withdrawal

by CraniumCulverin



Series: Ripper!AU [5]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe, Original Character(s), Other, Other's OCs, Ripper!AU, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraniumCulverin/pseuds/CraniumCulverin
Summary: Dr. Hewlett is left waiting in his clinic after an out of character no-show from Alfred. He decides to find out why.
Series: Ripper!AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350172
Kudos: 3





	Precipitate Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> Ripper!AU is based on donc-desole's artwork. There's a hint of homophobic talk; barely there but I still want to mention it. Originally posted to my tumblr.

Alfred has been late to his appointments only twice. The first was due to exceptionally poor weather even by New Pthumerian standards, and the second to having to take an unexpected detour due to an overturned cart. He was deeply apologetic after both instances, despite being a scant five minutes behind schedule, at most. So for him to leave Dr. Percival Hewlett waiting a half hour is quite out of the norm.

Not that Percy really minds - this was meant to be another of their “discussion sessions”, none of which have gone particularly well given Alfred’s reluctance to discuss anything of a deeper nature concerning himself. Not his likes or interests or what has happened to him, but _himself_. The man could verbally dissect a long dead religion for hours on end, but ask him to describe the most basic of thoughts concerning the reasons behind his actions and suddenly he’s nothing to say. He’s the first person the doctor has studied that seems to lack absolutely any desire to understand himself, and frankly he’s uncertain what to make of it.

As Percy utilizes the time to tidy the already immaculate office, he thinks of what course of action to take. This had been scheduled to be his last appointment of the day what with its usually taxing nature, so without a patient present there was no need for him to stay. However if Alfred _does_ show only to be greeted with a locked door and darkened windows, the surprisingly sensitive man would likely take it as a personal affront, which in itself would be quite taxing in nature. _“It’s so unlike him to be late to a meeting, let alone miss it entirely… He’s made every single appointment and session until today, even when he’s complained about it beforehand… I wonder…”_ Setting aside the well-polished saw he’d been cleaning, the physician returns to his desk and opens the file he’d left there to scan through his notes.

Alfred had certainly acted very oddly the last time he was in. By the time he’d abruptly taken his leave, his manner had become so erratic that Percy actually had the ridiculous notion he should arm himself.

Could whatever had been the catalyst _then_ be the cause of his absence _now_? If so, what was it? They’d discussed a good number of topics, what with the purpose of the appointment being to update his records… Perhaps outright addressing his alcohol addiction is what did it? That was the first time Percy had spoken so openly about it, and in such a negative light… Alfred first started to appear antsy when their previous conversation concerning the topic was mentioned, then there were his apprehensions over possibly harming others should he completely stop drinking… Or maybe he’s simply hungover again, and doesn’t want to face his physician after the reality of his situation had been so thoroughly laid out.

Percy closes the file and leans back with a sigh, unsatisfied. None of these conclusions feel _right_ …

…Were it not for the fact nary a peep has been heard from Alfred about his libidinous outburst last month, Percy would consider that as a possibility. But he hasn’t said a single thing about it - and Alfred _would_ say something, likely in the form of a longwinded and excessively dramatic display of repentance. All evidence and prior experiences point to him doing so immediately when he feels he’s wronged someone. Well, at least for those on the very short list of people he cares about, which Percy knows for a fact he’s on.

No, it must be that his initial impression was correct - Alfred’s apparent alcohol-induced amnesia has kept him from recalling anything of the incident. Refraining from informing the younger man of his own actions appears to have been not only the preferred route of action, but also the correct one. Percy is still convinced it would’ve ruined Alfred had he forced him to confront what he’d done - especially directly after, what with how distraught he’d been solely over getting so drunk. And it wasn’t like Percy was in the role of the man’s doctor when it all happened; he was simply being a friend by escorting him home! If Alfred really wants to have him as both doctor and friend, he can’t expect everything that happens between them to be dealt with in a strictly professional manner.

Really though, Percy thinks he did well to act so kindly toward Alfred despite his own slight hangover at the time - that, a substantial lack of sleep, and the various bruises he’d had to cover up made the meager amount of enmity he’d still been harboring all the harder to ignore. Luckily the other man had been _so_ miserable, a pang of sympathy had overridden whatever annoyance Percy felt over the previous night’s manhandling. It also helped to remind himself how easily it could’ve been him drunkenly instigating something of a similarly intimate nature, not too long ago… But regardless, the whole thing has truly turned out for the best. Percy didn’t have to endure an emotionally distraught and nonsensical Alfred the day after the assault, nor will he _ever_. Handling such hassles are simply _not_ his forte; he’d rather have to start treating “hysterical” old housewives again than attempt to console an illogically upset, temperamental patient!

A contemplative frown creases Percy’s brow as he laces his fingers behind his head. _“Come to think of it, Alfred’s overall ‘condition’ would likely improve were he to receive such 'treatments’ - though preferably in a self-administered fashion. He may very well cooperate if it’s under the guise of a medical procedure… Ah no, he’d easily see it for what it is and refuse…”_

At least the drunken fiasco has given him a rare opportunity he otherwise never would have witnessed in a clinical setting. A glimpse into how Alfred manages his impulses when uninhibited has proven quite helpful, particularly in understanding how he’s fairing with his bizarrely intense aversion to anything of a sexual nature. Which is, of course, very badly.

The doctor ponders his current special case a while longer before drifting to previous ones, leant back in his seat to stare at the high, shadowed supports of the ceiling. Everyone that chooses to cross his threshold as a patient has something to offer him, be it potential research or simply funds, but sometimes he really has to curse his curiosity. If someone ends up _too_ interesting they tend to become far more of an undertaking than he can ever predict. Still, these particular patients always make for engrossing study subjects - in very, _very_ different ways.

A hint of a grin twitches at the corner of his mouth as he retrieves the most recent bundle of letters he’s received from London. For a while Percy forgoes his immediate dilemma to reread the tight, neat script therein, his smile turning fond on occasion. After rereading a few parts he switches to another pair of papers within a similarly addressed envelope, covered in quick, fluid writing. It’s always such a pleasure when Rosalind sends a letter along with Wesley’s. As glad as he is for the correspondence, the dear man’s delightfully fretful manner never translates well to his written word - at least through Rosa’s lively descriptions he can catch glimpses of it. Plus she’s so refreshingly forthwith about life, comfortable speaking about all manner of ridiculously taboo topics. Other than their _still_ not being pregnant ( _“Goodness Wesley, surely it isn’t **that** difficult without my presence.”_) the only other news is of Rosa’s preparations for a piano recital and Wesley’s friend Harold dragging him into his latest antics.

Percy sighs and replaces the papers into their respective top drawer, already bored with this as well. The evening of reading and research he’d planned just wasn’t alluring at the moment, but neither was remaining in the clinic, and he hadn’t finished planning his next letter to begin writing. His fingers tap out a rhythm - Bach’s sonata for violin and piano in… C minor, was it? - as he thinks. The weather has been holding out today. He could head to the market before it gets too busy, but he already has what’s needed for tonight’s supper from his morning run… Maybe look through that old bookstore near Old Yharnam again? The shopkeep’s assistant had been quite obvious about her interest in him last he stopped by; perhaps he could charm the girl into letting him peruse the backroom stock? No, he wasn’t in the mood for such games… He’s wanted to visit Lumenwood Garden again before the flowers are covered for the season, but it won’t be dark enough for viewing for some hours yet… Perhaps he should just stay home and outline a few of the experiments he’s thought up since last he did so, for when he can finally begin his work in earnest… No, best not - his recent ideas are of a nature too risky to have lying around should Iosefka drop by unannounced…

The doctor sighs yet again as he closes his eyes. It wasn’t like him to succumb to ennui, especially when there’s so much to be done. Reports to pen, papers to file, chores to do, superiors to ignore, experiments to plan, unexplored topics to delve into - of _course_ it’s when he finds himself with much-desired free time that nothing seems fit to fill it! _“I suppose this is much like any other abrupt cancellation or absent patient, in that regard… It’s more of a nuisance when I don’t get to know **why** they don’t show up. I always have to wait until they come in again to satisfy my questions…”_

His eyes snap open. _“…There’s really no reason **not** to actively seek out a missing patient, should I want answers badly enough. If they were to accuse me of violating their privacy I could easily wave off my snooping as concern, or some such - just being a caring, professional practitioner.”_ He sits up quick enough for his chair to let out a squeak, adjusting his waistcoat as he returns his attention to his desk. _“Now, where did I put that…”_

The patient file is quickly splayed open to make rifling through the backmost papers easier. He soon finds what he’s looking for and pulls out the small slip he’d neatly copied from one of his journals - the address of the boarding house where Alfred resides. Who knows at what point the information had been shared, but he’d immediately made note should the need arise to utilize it. Boredom seems as worthy a need as any, especially considering the young man is at its source for neglecting to make his appointment.

Quickly glancing out the towering windows to see if an umbrella is in order, Percy pockets the scrap of paper and sets about preparing the black leather bag he brings to all house visits. After ensuring he has everything in order, the clinic is closed and locked up before he makes his way through the underground hallway to his residence. The foyer is somewhat dim as he dons a heavy coat and scarf, the tall windows above a poor substitute for lit sconces.

The air is wonderfully crisp when he opens the front door, a slight breeze playing with his hair as he locks up and begins his impromptu walk. The sky is aglow with wispy early Winter clouds and his street’s walking paths pleasantly devoid of activity save for the agreeable elderly couple that lives across the way. As Percy draws closer to the ladies in their garden he doesn’t slow but is sure to smile and nod in lieu of a proper hello, earning him the same in return. With the address fresh in his mind, he mentally plots out his course as close to where his knowledge of the city would indicate he’s going, and musters the patience and wherewithal he’ll need to find the rest of his way.

———-

Though only on the edge of the Old Yharnam district, the area in which Alfred resides certainly shares many of its less desirable characteristics. Cramped, dingy streets with very few lamp posts, residences and businesses crammed around and on top of each other - even a few derelict buildings that have yet to be torn down, this long after the war. People are everywhere, some obviously homeless while others are mongering or shopping or just milling about; and still others, a much smaller number, advertising themselves on street corners.

In other words a lot like London. Enough to cause a sense of nostalgia in Percy as he drifts out of the foot traffic and comes to a halt in front of an old manor house nestled among the indistinguishable buildings. The heavy wooden door is unlocked when he tries it so he lets himself in, only to be immediately greeted by loud snoring on crossing the threshold. An old man sitting against the adjacent wall is the obvious culprit, so soundly asleep not even a shriek from the door’s hinges nor slam of it closing can stir him. The foyer area is surprisingly cramped for such a large estate, yet the ceiling is so high it’s lost in the shadows. Noticeably newer walls and stairs are to blame for the strange layout, likely put in when the place was restored and renovated into a boarding house. Across the cavernous entryway near the furthest wall is an old woman, the rocking of her chair having halted as soon as he opened the door. She’s still in her nightcap despite the hour and has a good deal of knitting in her lap, her craft momentarily paused to glare at him.

“Good afternoon ma'am,” Percy says, a pleasant warmth added to his words as he dips his head in greeting. The elderly woman leans forward to squint through the dim of the place, causing a litany of protest from her chair. “My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett. Are you aware if Alfred is in?”

“Alfred who- Oh, _him_. Yes,” she says as she slowly and creakily leans back, “he and that dog of his, yes. He’s in. Hewlett you said? You’re his doctor then?”

“Yes I am. I’ve come to check on him. Could you direct me to his room?”

“He’s not left all day - only took the beast out once, poor thing. Good you’ve come,” the old landlady says as she slowly cracks and pops into standing, the knitting piling at her feet as she snatches a cane from somewhere to hobble closer. “The boy’s been unwell the last few days, I think. Very odd for him to stay in so much, hasn’t been finishing his meals like usual. Missed dinner yesterday, come to think of it… Oi, _old man_! Wake up, you!” She gives the elderly man’s stool a sound whack, startling him awake with a loud snort. “I’m going up! Stay awake to keep watch for once, you old git!”

The man’s angry complaints go ignored as the old woman leads Percy to one of the many sets of stairs. They ascend to what is probably the third floor - multiple flights, angles, and landings make it hard to keep track - on which the landing juts off into a long, windowless hallway of many doors. They stop in front of one of the closest doors, much like the others save for the number “39” painted in fading white, a little off of center. Expecting the old woman to take her leave, Percy stands close to a wall, his bag held off to the side to let her pass. She merely scowls and waves him toward the door. “Knock already, will you? I don’t want to have to come all the way back up here should he not answer, just to let you in!”

“He’s been that bad off?” he softly asks, pointedly ignoring her rudeness. The doctor gives the door a few knocks and waits. When nothing happens he calls out and tries again, a little louder. It’s only after the third round of knocking that a quiet, inhuman whine can be heard as something shifts to block the faint light spilling out from under the door.

The landlady huffs and pulls a large ring of keys from under her apron, expertly picking one out with nary a look. She shoves past him to the door and unlocks it before stashing it away as she turns to glare at him. “Lock up before you go, and don’t rile the beast into making a racket.” With that she pushes past once more to take her leave. Percy arches a brow at her retreating form before returning to the matter at hand. The door sticks a little when he tries to open it a crack, but once he manages a strange rumbling suddenly starts from inside. Only when it’s nearly fully open and too late does he realize it’s not so much a rumble as it is a _growl_.

Directly in front of him, stood in the middle of the tiny room, is the largest dog he’s ever seen.

The physician stops in his tracks, hand still on the doorknob as he swallows back his surprise. He knew Alfred owned a dog, but had neglected to ever ask what kind - in hindsight, a giant of a mastiff seems a rather obvious choice. “Alfred?” He calls gently, so as not to startle the enormous hound. From the corner of his vision he sees movement from beyond a bed’s footboard. “Alfred, are you awake?”

A groan comes from under the covers, which lower to reveal a mop of messy blond hair. The growling quiets momentarily as the animal’s ears perk toward its master, but otherwise is intent on fending off the unknown intruder. Another groan turns to low mumbling before a scruffy-looking Alfred emerges to blindly face the large, well-worn cushion across from him, no doubt where the dog lays. “Sig, you’re fine. Quiet down…” That at least stops the growling for the time being, leaving the now confused behemoth unsure of what to do. After a few seconds it softly whines its discontent, finally prompting Alfred to somewhat prop himself up, eyes shut tight against the meager amount of light. “Ugh, what’s wrong now…?”

“Only an intruder in your domicile, by all means stay in bed.”

Alfred bolts upright with wide, wild eyes as he whips the covers away, his hand instantly at the gap between mattress and wall to grasp what looks like the end of a previously hidden handle. He pauses to blink rapidly at his unexpected guest, both men and dog tense after his flurry of motion. The energy in the room suddenly dissipates as he slumps back and groans again. The handle is left to sink back into its hiding place as he presses both palms into his eye sockets, exhaustion gracing every aspect of his being. His hands drop into his lap when he stares at the physician, as though he’s unsure of what he’s seeing. “Percy…?”

“Yes, though right now I believe 'Dr. Hewlett’ is more fitting,” he stiffly motions with his bag toward the still-aggressive animal standing between them, “could you, ah…?”

Alfred sluggishly blinks before understanding dawns. Whatever he says next is apparently a command, as the dog immediately relaxes and starts to pant, tail lazily wagging as it cants its head and approaches to sniff at the visitor. Another oddly familiar assortment of syllables and it returns to its corner of the room, circling before laying down on the old cushion. The younger man cracks a tired smile at his pet before tensely looking back to Percy, wariness etched across his features as he replaces his blankets. “What are you doing here Dr. Hewlett?”

“Checking in, as it were,” Percy says as he shuts the door behind him. Now that there isn’t a snarling beast glaring at him he can take a more thorough look around as he strips off his outer layers. There’s a coat stand directly in front of the entry against the stained and cracking wall, beside which is a heavily-laden, tiny desk with a mismatched stool, a dented waste bin wedged between the two. On the other side of the desk is the dog’s bed and bowls, situated below the tiny room’s equally tiny window, too high to be anything other than a minor source of ventilation and light. A narrow bed piled with patchwork blankets and knit quilts sits against the wall in the corner, next to which is a nightstand barely big enough to hold the lamp atop it. At the foot of the bed sits an enormous, ancient, and very heavy-looking trunk, its padlocks left undone. Above it, a few shelves and a fair number of hooks along the walls are home to what little else Alfred apparently owns, along with differing lengths of dog leads. The most notable thing in the room besides the trunk is a painting hung in an elaborate frame, above the head of the bed - a detailed portrait of an aged, pale man with a full beard, long hair, and piercing eyes.

All in all a miserably cozy little setup, far from comfortable and fulfilling only life’s barest necessities. Percy hides his dismay at the state of Alfred’s living quarters as he hangs his coat and scarf on the stand. No wonder he’s out and about so much, walking the streets more than the Church militia; this place is hardly large enough for a grown man, let alone a grown man and a more than grown animal!

“I thought it best to drop by, seeing as you’ve never neglected to show for an appointment before,” the physician says whilst turning around, one hand smoothing the front of his jacket, the other holding his black bag. “I believed something might be amiss. It appears my suspicions were correct.”

“An appointment…?” Alfred’s face scrunches up in confusion before it breaks into panicked realization. He bolts upright to scramble out from under his covers. “The _session_! How could I _forget_ , I should have-!”

“Relax Alfred.”

The blond freezes before he can further tangle himself in his sheets. Now that he’s properly facing him, Percy can see just how bad a condition the man is in. His usually styled hair hangs limp and unwashed, and the typically well-kept sideburns are on their way to being consumed by unshaven stubble. Pale, clammy skin, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a sheen of sweat on his forehead - this wasn’t just a hangover. He’d either managed to become _very_ ill in the two days since they’d last spoken, or… Percy sighs.

He pulls the stool out and sits, setting the bag at his feet as he does. Alfred still appears somewhat ready to fling himself out of bed, but his manic energy has been somewhat replaced by the same wariness from before. He won’t meet the doctor’s gaze, looking anywhere but his direction, and his hands can’t seem to stay still. How curious… “Now that I see your state, I’ll forego the lecture of how to properly cancel an appointment the day of. Missing was obviously not a conscious decision.”

The younger man kneads at the topmost quilt, managing to look even guiltier. “I’m sorry. Had I- if I’d- …I haven’t been well.”

“I can see that. You’ve stopped drinking, haven’t you?”

Alfred tenses, gaze immediately snapping to his hands. “I, uh… how…?”

“Because you were perfectly fine two days ago, and aren’t one to let anything less than severe pain or injury keep you from being active,” Percy doesn’t bother keeping the displeasure from his voice as he gets straight to the point. “If you’d consulted me before blindly charging into this, you would know that stopping such an addiction shouldn’t be done alone. _Especially_ if one decides to do it all at once - the shock and resulting symptoms can lead to _death_ if not under proper supervision!”

The blond huddles further against the headboard at the chastisement, hands anxiously fidgeting in his lap as he keeps his head down and chews at his bottom lip. From this angle his eyes look to be rapidly darting every which way, glossed over and even teary as the sweat falls from his brow. Taking a slow breath, Percy decides to change tactics. Having to deal with an unnecessarily emotional patient is _such_ a task, and Alfred has proven he is _very_ capable of being just that. The doctor pauses a moment to consider his next move, unconsciously leaning forward to better observe whatever reaction he’ll receive. His voice is kept as quiet and calm as can be.

“…What changed your mind? You went from 'considering’ to 'doing’ rather quickly, no further convincing required. Am I really that good?” He chuckles, “perhaps I’m simply too familiar with handling you-”

Alfred’s breathing suddenly hitches, followed by a series of hiccups as it grows faster, more erratic. Tears immediately begin to stream down his pallid cheeks, as though they’d been building up for some time. His eyes screw shut as he quickly hides his face behind hands that end up tangled into his hair. A tightly clenched jaw is visible behind shaking forearms as he sucks air in between his teeth, rapidly hissing as he tries to keep himself quiet. He stays upright for only a moment longer before he buries himself under the covers to curl into a fetal position. His heaving form, now wracked by outright sobs, haphazardly rocks beneath the knit- and patchwork.

Percy remains silent and motionless as he stares.

He hasn’t a clue of what to do.

The unease Alfred causes him on occasion is back in full force, bearing down on him, making it extraordinarily difficult to sort through his thoughts. It’s obvious he’s done something to set him off, but _what_? Why was he so upset in the first place? Was he really feeling _that_ guilty over foregoing the doctor’s assistance? Is it the withdrawal causing him to act out due to heightened chemical imbalances of some sort? Has _he_ , personally, done something? The dog stands only to eventually sit back down and whine in its master’s direction. Percy pays it no mind as he watches the shaking mass of covers, frown deepening the more he ponders.

He’s done everything a personal physician should when trying to help a patient face their addiction; not even his former peers in England could argue he’s been too “morally lax” with this case! So why is seeing a man in the throes of withdrawal breaking down in front of him- Why does he feel _guilty_?! Lost in his bewilderment, it takes him far too long to realize the incoherent sounds emanating from the bed are peppered with words.

“-rry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m s-sorry I- I’m-”

Percy sits at attention. “Sorry for what? Alfred, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

The sobs turn to fast wheezes as the mass of quilts curls further in on itself. Fearing the younger man might pass out from lack of air the doctor swiftly stands and comes closer, ignoring the worried whines of the animal at his feet. He goes to lay a hand on what was likely a shoulder only for it to flinch away, sobs catching for a moment before continuing. Percy stifles a frustrated sigh as he straightens, still unsure of how to proceed. He brings the stool to sit closer, resting his chin in a hand as he considers the problematic patient before him. “…Alfred, please. I can’t do my job unless I’m aware of what the problem is. What’s happened to upset you so-”

“ _I assaulted you_!”

Alfred’s head pops out from under the covers, hair sticking to his reddened face where tears and snot have caught it. His eyes are clenched shut, fists balled into the fabric under his chin as he practically shouts, “I-I _assaulted_ you, forced myself on you like an _animal_! I’ve done _everything_ wrong! I don’t deserve forgiveness, I don’t deser- _deserve_ -! I’d never- let alone to _you_! God, I don’t know why I-! You’re the only bloody friend I’ve _got_ and I just, just-! Treated you l-like some common-”

“… _Oh_ ,” utters Percy, too quiet to be heard. A hand presses over his mouth as his gaze falls to the floor, Alfred’s rambling fading into background noise.

All of his observations from the recent past topple to the forefront of his mind, aligning to form a glaringly obvious truth with disconcerting ease. The atypical lack of communication and unannounced visits this last month, how Alfred’s odd manner during his last appointment only began after Percy brought up their talk, which occurred the day after his outburst - even during the day after itself! How he’d so uncharacteristically neglected to finish his meal, or even pocket the biscuits for his walk home! It all makes terrible sense when connected by the common thread of his remembering his actions from the very start. _“I was a **fool** to think I could ever forego the ridiculous mess of addressing what happened. If he just didn’t get so overly-!”_ The doctor purses his lips in a tight frown as he rubs the bridge of his nose. _“…No, no this is squarely on my shoulders now. I didn’t deserve the torture of Alfred’s dramatics, but now that I’ve made the situation so much worse… Plenty of contrary evidence to my decision and I was **still** blind to it all! Too content in thinking I’d avoided an overemotional bullet! Verdammt noch mal, I hate making mistakes!”_

“-nothing but patient and kind, and I repay that with, with trying to _rape_ you! Oh _God_! I-I’m such a wretched, disgusting, _vile_ -”

Hardly aware of Alfred’s self-loathsome sobbing, Percy barely moves his hand to blandly reply, “You didn’t try to rape me Alfred, don’t be ridiculous.”

“-ing but revulsion! You shouldn’t even want to _look_ at me, let alone _treat_ me! I shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ you after I-I did such a thing, but I still-”

The physician finally looks up at him as his hand drops away, focus no longer divided. “Refusing you treatment is the furthest thi-”

“ _Another man_! That I force _anyone_ against their will for my own lewd selfishness is- But a _man_?! How could I _do_ something s-so-! To someone who, who’d never even _think_ that anyone would want to-”

“I am quite familiar with homosexual acts, Alfred.”

“-odd and _perversely_ unnah…tur…”

The muffled words trail off. Alfred slowly turns from where he’d buried his face into the now sodden pillow, finally looking at his visitor for longer than a glance. “…You are…?”

“Quite.”

“… _Oh_ …” He stares for a moment before his eyes drift to the wall, expression oddly blank.

For a short time silence hangs in the small room, and Percy is too relieved for a break from the wailing to question it. However, the longer it goes on the more he notices the other’s expression shift into something more… thoughtful. An immense amount of discomfort overtakes the physician, driving what little of his tension that had dissipated to return tenfold. He loudly clears his throat to interrupt whatever disagreeable ideas the other might be having. “ _However_ , I've… someone to whom a significant amount of time and energy has been dedicated. And, that being the case, I’ve no interest in such a relationship at this time.”

“Oh.” Alfred’s expression falls as flat as his tone.

His brow furrows as his gaze drifts to his dog, still sitting nearby with its nose on the edge of the mattress. A hand comes out from under the covers to give the animal a scratch behind an ear, eliciting a steady thumping as its tail wags against the floorboards. Percy lets out the shallow breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad to finally not be the other’s sole focus. It has to stay a short-lived reprieve, however - he still has to set this mess right somehow.

“…For clarity’s sake, receiving another man’s advances isn’t something I find odd or distressing. What _was_ of an offensive nature pertaining to your actions that night was being thoroughly manhandled-” the doctor pauses, his expression turning pensive before bordering on sheepish, “-…in such a… an indifferent fashion. That is, _without_ consent.”

Alfred’s already pallid complexion pales beneath the flush of upset, self-disgust practically oozing off him as he hiccups on the threat of miraculously unspent tears. Percy quickens his pace in the hope of cutting them off before any more can fall. “But! I know you never would have carried out such actions if you were in any way able to comprehend them at the time. As such, I consider the entire affair as something to be analyzed and understood, similar to any other aspect of your overall case. And I’d like to make one thing _very_ clear-” he pointedly pauses and stares, gently smiling when the younger man finally looks up,“-what I said the following day was and remains true, Alfred. Apology accepted.”

The blond’s breath hitches and for a terrible moment he appears alarmingly close to all-out sobbing again, which causes the older man’s smile to prematurely wane. Instead the offending tears are ignored as he two-handedly rubs at his faces and sniffles in an attempt to hold them back. “But I _hurt_ you…”

Percy raises a brow and sits straighter to spread his arms wide. “Do I look hurt to you?”

“There were- you have bruises…”

“Which have faded - or are very well on their way, if you’ve managed to pick them out. Wait,” Percy arches a brow questioningly as he lays his hands on his thighs to lean forward, “is _that_ what set you off during your last appointment? You saw what’s left of the mark on my neck? Honestly, I’ve gotten worse from badly-stacked book shelves…”

His patient simply nods and bites his bottom lip, eyes anxiously dancing across the room. If anything he looks hesitant now, as if he’s unsure he should accept that he’s already been so readily forgiven. They sit quietly as Percy tries to hash out how best to convince him so they can move on to the matter at hand - his withdrawal. He sighs as he comes to a conclusion that should act as a much-needed segue into what he’ll have to do so he can finally be free of this ridiculous affair. “Think of it like this - were I still upset with you concerning what happened, wouldn’t I have said something by now? The day after, or any time after that? Or right now for that matter?”

Alfred goes stock still, averted eyes widening as he rapidly blushes a new shade of red and rubs at his mouth. “…Uuuhh I- uhh…Hmmooh…” His muttering grows more and more muffled as he sinks lower and lower until he’s reclined once more, pressing himself into the mattress as if in the hopes it’ll swallow him whole. The doctor pretends not to notice his obvious embarrassment, instead focused on trying to look remorseful or even anxious instead of annoyed over his current situation. Evidently not a single thought about Percy’s reaction, or lack thereof, has crossed Alfred’s mind in all of his panic and self-loathing. The physician would even posit a guess no real concern over how _he_ may have faired has occurred to him either.

Good. Incredibly self-centered and ignorant, but good; hopefully it’ll stay that way, at least for long enough to make easier what must come next. Percy turns away for a moment to gather himself. “…For that I owe you an apology.”

The blond opens his mouth to question, but Percy silences him with a terse shake of his head before continuing. “The day after I retrieved you from that pub and the subsequent incident, you didn’t appear to remember any of it. From that scant observation I decided, instead of forcing you to recall the ordeal while already upset over your getting drunk, I’d act as though your outburst never occurred. Knowing how you loathe wanton acts of any nature, I thought that line of action would be best for you to recover and move on from the blow getting drunk would have dealt to your mindset. I was very, very wrong. I never bothered to think that I may had been mistaken, that perhaps you _did_ remember your actions from that night, or of how what I was doing may affect you. By acting as though nothing happened I waylaid your mental recovery and undoubtedly caused you an enormous amount of duress - questioning your memory, perhaps even your grip on reality. As a medical professional, your physician, and in an unofficial capacity your psychiatrist, my making assumptions and retaining information from you concerning your own actions was morally questionable at best. I apologize profusely.”

The room is silent once Percy finishes with a penitent dip of his head. Alfred has shifted to laying on his side, mouth hanging open in obvious confusion just as it was while he listened. It snaps shut almost audibly when he realizes but the confusion remains, slowly morphing into a grimace as he struggles to understand, mind as sluggish and impaired as it is right now. His mouth opens and closes a few times before words finally begin to form. “I… uh. That- I wasn’t expecting, for _you_ to… _I’m_ the one who- I don’t- but you… You’re, um… forgiven?”

Percy makes a show of letting go of a breath he hadn’t been holding. “Thank you for forgiving me. And of _course_ I owed you an apology - the turmoil my actions caused you must’ve been great. _Deplorable_ on my part, as your doctor. Now!”

He swiftly ducks down to open the leather bag at his feet and pulls out a small notebook and pencil. As he returns the stool to sit at the desk he fishes out his spectacles from a breast pocket, depositing them on his nose before clearing a space for him to work. “On to business, yes? I have a few questions about how you’ve faired since going dry - I’m sorry, that’s another assumption on my part. You _have_ stopped your alcohol intake entirely? Likely starting directly after your last appointment?”

“I- yeah? …Yes,” Alfred is immensely lost over the sudden change of topic as he pushes himself up. His eyes are still glossy and his voice hoarse from his earlier wailing, but now that the flush of embarrassment and upset has subsided he looks wanner than ever. Sweatier too, unless that’s just residual tears and the dim lighting.

“Very well. You’ve been experiencing the usual withdrawal symptoms I suspect - headache, fever, stomach complaints, trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah… all of that…”

Percy hums as he jots this all down. “Have you experienced uncontrollable shaking?”

“A little, in my hands…”

“When you move do you feel unbalanced, disoriented?”

“If I’m standing or move too quickly, yeah…” Alfred sits upright again and clenches his eyes shut, frowning.

“And have you noticed anything… odd? Visual or auditory things that don’t seem right?”

“You mean hallucinations? I don’t- probably not…?”

“Good, good. Have you been able to keep down most-”

“Bin.”

“-of what you’ve ea- beg pardon?” Percy looks over to see a _very_ pale Alfred tensely clutching his covers. His mouth is a thin line as he harshly breathes out through his nose, his voice naught but a croak. “Bin!”

Without taking his eyes off him Percy deftly leans to grab the receptacle and is next to the bed so fast the dog startles to its feet. Before the blond can fully take it he’s already retching. The doctor stands by with no discernable reaction as he passively watches, pencil and notebook poised to write. Once the successive coughing subsides and Alfred wearily retracts his head with a moan, Percy returns to his task as though nothing had happened. “I’ll take that as a 'no’.”

———-

“What are you reading?”

Percy turns to glance up from where he sits at the room’s cramped though slightly more organized desk. “Alfred, you’re up! So sorry if I managed to wake you, it was not my intention,” he moves to fully face the bedbound man, bringing the book he’d been focused on to display the cover. “Nothing pertaining to any of my current cases, but of interest nonetheless. The Ward’s libraries cover so many fascinating topics.”

“Mmhm,” Alfred hums, already closing his eyes once more. The doctor watches him as he uses the interruption as an opportunity to stretch some, before adjusting his spectacles to find where he left off.

Three days have passed since Percy first came to check on Alfred. Thanks to the schedule they’d quickly set up the physician has been back to the little room often - sometimes thrice a day if the weather and his other appointments cooperate. It’s surprisingly… alright, having to come out to see to the miserable man. Though the trip takes him near less than desirable parts of town, Percy enjoys the excuse for walks and exploring routes he’d otherwise never take, as well as the occasional bonus of receiving baked goods from the elderly sapphic couple, now that he passes by so regularly. The boarding house’s old landlady had opted to give Percy a spare key to Alfred’s room on hearing he’d be back so often, making the act of getting in nowhere near as unpleasant as his first visit. And with Alfred so firmly in the midst of his withdrawal, he’s nowhere near as talkative and irritating as his usual self. In fact, other than giving an update on his condition, the blond primarily spends his time silent and in bed, trying to get some semblance of sleep. It makes for a quiet, somber sort of environment - not unlike a library really, save for the dog smell and occasional sounds of retching.

Percy began bringing his reading along during the second day, when Alfred told him he seems to sleep better with someone nearby. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept completely alone in a room of my own, before living in Yharnam,” he’d shared as his reasoning on the matter. Of course Percy had only acquiesced after seeing first hand why his further prolonged presence was indeed needed; when the blond suffered a brief bout of falling sickness as he slept. If not for the physician’s quick intervention he would have likely given himself a mild concussion with how he’d been convulsing against the wall. Instead he ended up with only a scrape on his forehead, while the wall gained a few fresh cracks in its plaster.

So, other than occasionally having to walk Alfred’s mastiff Siegward - which to its owner’s credit is surprisingly docile and well-behaved for those that know a few choice words in Old Pthumerian - Percy finds himself enjoying the time _technically_ spent tending to a needy patient, and _actually_ spent recreationally reading. It’s not his own home of course, but the lack of comfort just keeps him from drifting off between paragraphs as he’s become wont to do more in recent years.

“Is it about eastern folk medicine?”

Percy looks up in surprise to see Alfred intently squinting at him, or rather the book. It’s still very strange to hear him forego his newer, more refined manner of speech in lieu of the accent he had when they first met. Yet another sign of how awful a state he’s in, and of the trust he must have in the physician. “Why yes, it is. How did you- have you read it?”

“…You could say that,” he settles back to lay down after having propped himself up. Once he sees the doctor’s obvious curiosity he groggily continues. “Transcribed by Logärius from its original Chinese, right?”

Realization comes to Percy on hearing the name aloud. He flips to the front to be certain and, sure enough, there is the late man’s name in solid script under the title and intricate characters of the original authors. “Yes it is. Did he work on this during your mentorship?”

Alfred doesn’t respond. Enough time passes that Percy considers dropping the matter. Talk of his mentor was a touchy subject, and he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries or cause an upset when it could so easily affect the man’s health. He’ll just have to make a note of this to bring up at a later time.

“…On the back page, if it’s the original printing - it’s signed by Logärius at the bottom,” Alfred suddenly says, almost too low and gravelly to be heard clearly, “the 'A’ is in a circle instead of with an umlaut…”

The physician quickly turns to the back page. There at the bottom, much smaller than he’d expected, is a simple anglicized signature, perfectly centered with a curiously large “A”, missing its umlaut in lieu of a perfect circle. His interest fully piqued, Percy looks to the younger man expecting further explanation, apparently in an amusing fashion as he dryly chuckles in response. “He transcribed everything by hand originally, since printing wasn't… present most of his life - it wasn’t really used in Pthumeru. His hands caused him a lot of pain by his later years, so he never learned how to type. I learned instead, when he took me on.”

“You transcribed this book into print?”

Alfred nods as he looks at nothing in particular. “I did a good number of his first transcripts. Some of the papers were damaged or beginning to fade; we needed to salvage them in the midst of our travels…”

Percy raises his brows, genuinely impressed - who’d of thought the ever-impatient Alfred capable of such a thing? But something bothers him as he considers this new information. “Of all the works gathered by Logärius that I’ve read, I’ve never seen a single credit for the transcriptions go to anyone but him. Surely you deserve-”

“I don’t want it.”

The doctor pauses, his confusion plain. Alfred sighs. “Pecking at a typewriter is nothing compared to the _actual_ work my mentor dedicated himself to near the end of his life. He’d already traveled much of Asia and Europe by the time we met, was more than halfway done all on his own. Adding my name would only diminish the importance of his efforts, his dedication. I didn’t - still don’t - want to take away from the recognition that’s rightfully his.”

Remaining silent, Percy adds this revelation to what he already knows of Alfred’s relationship with the mysterious Old Pthumerian that had been Logärius. It was evident from the start that he highly reveres the man - which makes perfect sense, considering how he’d vastly improved Alfred’s life practically over night. From education to etiquette, Logärius reshaped and guided a spirited no-name brute into a relatively decent gentleman of… _some_ amount of academic prowess. During one of their discussion sessions, he’d even let slip he considered the man as a sort of father figure, the first he could ever recall in a positive light. But this degree of humility is completely new. Alfred is a prideful man; proud of his academic work, proud of his physical abilities, proud of his status of being Logärius’ sole surviving protégé, and proud of how he’s successfully reshaped himself to blend with those of a higher social standing. So to learn he willfully, _adamantly_ refuses rightful credit for his work in a well-known collection of literature, which would most certainly force his peers at Byrgenwerth to reconsider him… Perhaps it’s less reverence for Logärius, and more a strange sort of glorification…

Percy shakes his head as he’s nudged out of his thoughts. Siegward has come to lean against he and the stool, panting slightly as he slobbers near one of his pant legs. With a frown the doctor shifts away from the impending mess of a particularly viscous line of drool. Alfred interrupts his dozing to crack an eye open at the movement before he settles in further, prompting Percy to ask one final question. “…What does the circled 'A’ entail?”

“Hm?” Alfred turns toward the doctor’s voice but doesn’t open his eyes.

“You mentioned this book’s signature having a circled 'A’, as if it were unique. Why is that?”

Now it’s Alfred’s turn to frown. “He was of the same mindset as you, that I should receive credit. He didn’t push the matter, but made sure to sign everything I’d typed like that, without my knowing - the 'A’ capitalized and circled, for 'Alfred.’ Ridiculous old man… he just laughed when I confronted him…” The last handful of words are muttered, but his frown sleepily inverts to a fond smile.

Percy hums in response but says nothing. Glancing at the back page again before flipping to where he’d left off, he decides to make note of which books he might happen to read that bare the same unique signature. For curiosity’s sake, as well as to see just how much credit and fame Alfred is willing to part with in the name of elevating his mentor’s image.

As soft snoring quietly pervades the little room the physician shifts to sit properly at the desk once more, but only after casting a glance at the portrait, the ancient man’s intense gaze meeting his own as if in challenge. Percy hums and returns to his reading. What a bizarre study subject he’s managed to find…


End file.
